Rememberance
by Shishira
Summary: Kinfolk don't always live in luxury under the watchful eye of their powerful cousins. Especially Kin to the Asian Shifters, the Hengeyokai. (Chapter 2 Up!)
1. Run

One of my earliest childhood memories was opening my eyes to the tan texture of a tatami mat. It felt so cool under the pressure of my cheek, yet at the same time uncomfortable as it forced the tender flesh of my cheek against the bone under it. Upon lingering examination and my askew, horizontal position, thin strips of dark crimson were slowly creeping away from my gaze, like snails on a mission. As consciousness finally seeped into my weary body, I felt the telltale trickle of blood dripping out of my nose and onto the mat under my head. The sanguine trail looked like a river up close, burning a horrific image into my mind. I was only a ten-year-old boy, and I had already seen more blood up close than any person should in their entire lifetime. Most of it did not belong to me. Unfortunately, some did.

As I pushed myself up from the mat with my small, shaking limbs, a thin stream of blood continued to drip from my nose. I watched it, transfixed, as it joined the already growing line in the cracks of the tatami with a soft noise only I could hear. I was so focused on my bleeding orifice I couldn't hear the concerned chatter of voices surrounding me. They were all talking, no action. As they chattered, I shut my eyes and tuned them out. There was a red river of blood in my mind's eye, flowing with the fury of a rapid down an endless path with no beginning, and no end. 

Then there was nothing. 

~*~*~*~

"Hyun-Jin!"

I turned with a sneer at the sheer familiarity of the voice that called my name. In the forefront of my mind, I knew I should control my emotions and facial expressions around those that were the Emerald Mother's chosen, but blessed or not, some people deserved less respect than they were given. The Kitsune-child, Jae-Yeon, was one of those people. 

My smile was tight-lipped and forced, lacking any semblance of friendliness, but the expression was lost on the Shinju-born brat. He obviously needed more schooling on the recognition of human facial expressions. 

"Good morning, Kinfolk!" he exclaimed cheerily. I immediately bristled, lip curling in distaste. The Kitsune stopped prancing towards me, halting in place; oh-so precariously balanced on the ball of his foot. "What is it, Hyun-Jin? Are you not happy to see me?" Delicately, he lowered himself back into both feet, folding his hands behind his back. He gazed up at me with soulful brown eyes, tilting his head to the side unconsciously. 

I sighed, forcing my back muscles to go limp so I could manage a polite-looking bow. "No, Jae-Yeon-šši, I am delighted to see you this fine morning. But I had politely asked you to," I swallowed down an abrupt flare of humiliation and rage, "not address me by such a demeaning word."

"Oh, Kinfolk?" Yeon murmured thoughtfully. "But it's true, is it not?"

A conversation we've had a hundred times, on a hundred different occasions. And still, it boiled my blood. My requests would be ignored, on account that I was a meager Kinfolk, not even Kin to his Breed, and therefore twice as inferior as any other. Minus the oblivious humans, of course. 

I set myself straight, lowering my head to the short fox-child. It was a chore to look submissive to someone a foot shorter than yourself, but when you're six-feet tall, it's hard. "Yes," I uttered through clenched teeth, "We've talked about this before, remember?"

He waved his hand at me in dismissal, "The past is past, it is gone. Don't you enjoy the today? Are you angry at the past, Hyun-Jin? Then you are silly. Can't change the past, little Kin."

My eye twitched. I could feel the tick settling into the fine muscle of my eyelid. Shaking my head, I tried to let my hair shadow my features, which it did quite readily. The black curtain fell over my face, effectively shadowing my visage from the inquisitive gaze of the Kitsune. I thanked sheer laziness for not tying it back into a ponytail this morning. A puff of breath wiggled the ends of my hair dangling at my chin. It wasn't my own. 

"You can't hide from me, Hyun-Jin," Yeon laughed, pursing his lips for another jet of breath. 

It was too much. The pursing lips, the effective violation of my personal space, the annoying tone of his voice, his short, shrimpy stature, his fox-blood; all the jealousies and frustrations of that moment congealed into one tightened fist that solidly connected with the pouty lips of the Shinju. 

Needless to say, I knocked his perky _fucking _ass out. Cut my knuckles on his perfect teeth, but whatever. They weren't perfect anymore. 

I smiled and headed to my motorcycle, leaving the Kitsune unconscious and bleeding in the garden of the Court. There would be hell to pay later. But for now, I had things to do. 

Nothing felt better than zipping through the streets of Seoul, free of the smothering clutches of the Hengeyokai court. Claws, fangs, blessings and fur: who needed those? All I wanted was my freedom. Acceptance. The only place I could find those was within the streets of Seoul, Korea. 

I pulled to a stop in front of my familiar _tabang, _smirking proudly to myself as I pushed open the front door. The bar, unsurprising for this time of morning, was empty. The bartender immediately turned with slight glower, but his face softened as he saw me waltzing through the door as if I owned the place. He shook his head and laughed. 

"A little early to start drinking, Kim-sonsaengnim?"

"Cut the formal bullshit, Han, you know it doesn't fuel your tips from me," my remark was good-natured enough to get another laugh from the middle-aged Korean. I pulled up a stool and took a seat, resting my chin in my hand. His eyes immediately went to the torn skin of my knuckles, blood dry and flaking on his immaculate bar. A small grin spread across my lips. Would he ask about my well being, or complain that I was soiling his freshly wiped counter? 

Han's bushy eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. He had seen things like this from me before. Various states of injury were not uncommon to Kim Hyun-Jin. "You know, walls don't fight back."

"Yeah, neither do unconscious, short little pretty-boys," I shrugged. "Right in the teeth."

Han poured a shot and slid it across the counter. Before I could lift it to my lips, I felt the weight of his hand on my arm. "No, Jin," he chuckled, "pour it on your hand. Do you know where your little victim has been?"

The thought disgusted me. What _do _Shinju Kitsune like to put in their mouths? With a grimace, I poured the alcohol onto the broken flesh, hissing, as the sting burned right to the bone. 

"Was a … small shot … anyway," I growled as Han patted my hand dry with a clean rag, along with the rest of the bar. The only thing I could do was to cradle the wound close to my body, as if the proximity would ease the pain. 

He shook his head. "Let me guess, you're not going to go to the hospital and get stitches because your father would kill you and your mother would be worried sick. Same old story, right, Jin?"

"Right," I managed a smile. 

"How old are you again?"

"Twenty-one."

"When are you going to strike out on your own?"

"I think I just did that," I emphasized my statement with a wave of my burning hand.

Han shook his head, leaning across the counter to close the distance between us. Shit, was he actually being serious with me? I hated it when he was serious with me. "Jin," he sighed. Yeah, it was serious. "Leave your home. Shake your dad's hand, kiss your mother, hug your sister, and go. You're a big kid, and you've got talent. Find yourself. You come in here every other day, meet the same people, drink the same round of drinks, smoke the same cigarettes, and leave, only to come back wielding some trophy of your last victory fight, or victory girl."

My green-brown eyes met his dark brown ones hesitantly. 

"I remember what you say when you get drunk. How much you despise your father, how much you love your mother, how you want to kick everyone's ass who looks at you the wrong way. Remember that time I locked you in my storeroom closet for harassing my customers?"

I chuckled, shaking my head slightly. "I was so drunk I didn't realize that there was more liquor in there to take the edge off. At least I had enough sense to puke in your mop bucket, right?"

"Yeah," he laughed, "Yeah. Good sense, kid. But seriously. When are you going to tell your dad you're a big boy now, and leave that place you grudgingly call home?"

If you would only understand the life of Kinfolk, I thought to myself. "Soon, soon," I humored Han, just like I always did. "Until I get…"

"…Enough money to leave," Han interrupted, taking the words right out of my mouth. "I know the story, Jin. But you have to know that fighting for cash can be more trouble than it is worth sometimes. I've seen you fight. Kicking out the rowdy, drunk customers like my personal bouncer."

"I only do it for the free drink, you know."

"You little shit. You and your Tae Kwon Do can go so far, but you have to take the initiative. Get out of Seoul. Hell, go back to America again. Your mother's from America, right?"

"She's half-Korean," I shrugged. Half American just sounded so generalized. 

"You speak English?"

I coughed into my good hand and broke into English, "Sometimes I get really, really tired of your paternal guidance bullshit, but you're a good guy."

Han looked blank. "I have no idea what you just said."

Laughter bubbled up in my chest, but I choked it down. "Yeah, I speak English." I replied in Korean, of course. 

"So, go! What are you waiting for?"

Honestly, I didn't have an answer for that. I could only shrug and glance down at my hand. The throbbing was a dull, constant ache. It kept me aware. "Just give me a drink, will you? My hand is killing me."

Han shook his head but did what any good bartender would do: let it drop until the customer was drunk enough to continue talking. He poured the shot and passed it across the table. I let it sit for a moment as I lit up a cigarette, inhaling the noxious smoke that so readily soothed my nerves as it stimulated them. Nicotine was a wonderful thing. 

The front doors swung open with a rush of balmy summer wind that tossed my hair around my face, threatening to light the ends on fire upon the end of my cigarette. I turned my head, swiftly plucking the cigarette from my lips and holding it between my fingers. 

I was abruptly glad I removed the smoke from my lips. My jaw went slack as I noticed and recognized the figures sliding through the door. One was a short Japanese man, with close-cropped black hair and eyes so dark you could hardly see the pupils. The man behind him was a tall, well-muscled Korean who moved like liquid mercury. His hair was jet black, perfectly cut so that not a single strand seemed out of place. He was all angular features that radiated menace, the type who didn't have to say a word to get his point across. Immediately, I felt the sudden throb of Rage, and no doubt Han did also. He left abruptly into the back room, muttering something about restocking the bottles. 

I knew the first man to be Hakken. And the second man was a Khan. My father.


	2. Waiting

There was a lump in my throat the size of an apple. I quickly downed the shot of liquor on the table; eyes never leaving the two harbingers of my impending doom that stood in the doorway of the bar like silent statues, waiting for the right moment to jump into action. Even the acute burning of the potent liquor did nothing to push down the apple-sized lump of nerves. 

Oda Katsumoto, the Hakken, glowered visibly, as if I dared to move in the presence of the two Court officials. He even started to move forward in my direction, but my father lifted his arm and let his hand rest gently on the wolf's shoulder. Katsumoto looked back with one bushy eyebrow raised in question. 

My father's eyes never left mine. "Jin-I," he said, "It's time to leave."

My lip curled in annoyance at the way my father addressed me. Just like a child. The subtle flash of teeth caused Katsu to tremble against his 'restraints'. He must have though I was being defiant. Fact of the matter, I was. "Kim-sonsaengnim," the Hakken growled; his Korean was choppy and slow, "The boy is being stubborn." The wolf didn't know the half of it. Nevertheless, I stood up, trying desperately to hide the fact that my knees were rattling like old windowpanes. I walked past the two Hengeyokai with my eyes properly set to the ground, hands in my pockets. I had left my cigarette burning on the counter. To run back and get it would probably have brought a good amount of bodily harm to my person.

Katsu was practically nipping at my heels. He flanked me directly in my blind spot, which annoyed me to no ends. My father saw no use in pestering me any longer; merely stepping around the both of us to a car that sat outside. I hated that car, and it was such an irrational hate I never quite understood. It was immaculate, inside and out. The cherry red finish never had a scratch or a problem with fading, and even the chrome of the hubcaps was always perfectly shiny. The tires were black as pitch, with such a fine sheen you could almost see your face in it. Dust and dirt were Greek words to the interior. To top it all off, it always smelled new. It was perfect, like some small representation of my father. That's probably why I hated it so much. He seemed to care more about his material things sometimes than he did me.

Of course, I was the family disappointment. One doesn't care for something they despise. 

To play it safe, I took the back seat. Katsu had taken the passenger's seat. With my father at the wheel, we were quickly speeding away through the traffic of Seoul.

They were quiet. It was almost too much. Usually, I get an earful, but today was different. The silence was more disturbing with every passing city block. Neither Katsu nor my father spoke a word to each other. I couldn't help but fiddle with everything my fingertips came into contact with: my belt, the seatbelt, the leather interior, the long black strands of my hair. Nothing helped. Finally, I decided I would go crazy if someone didn't say something. The sound of my own voice was better than nothing at all.

"Father, I…" was that an apology starting to come out of my mouth? Even I was taken aback. I was far from sorry for punching that uppity Kitsune. 

I stopped talking even before I saw his finger lift from the steering wheel, warning me to be quiet.

The rest of the ride back to the Court was in silence. 

~*~*~*~

I paced around my room like a tiger in a cage. Katsu was more than happy to lock me inside, but less than enthused when he was told to keep guard outside the door. Whenever I came within two feet of the exit, I was answered with a low warning growl. That was that. There were no windows to my room, so I was effectively stuck. 

I had unplugged my clock from the wall. Time tends to pass faster when you're not actively watching the minutes tick by. 

Eventually, pacing grew boring. Boredom grew into restlessness, which grew into more pacing. The cycle continued until I heard voices outside the door. I slowed to a stop, tilting my head to listen in to the conversation. 

"…Taek, please," that was my mother's pleading voice. Oh, salvation. "Jin just needs to be out more with the other Kinfolk. He's a restless young man and…"

"Restless?" my father growled in reply, "Yun, he assaulted the Regent's son. Not only that, but he assaulted the Regent's trueborn Shinju son. The young Kitsune is not taking this lightly."

I could hear my mother sigh. "Of course not."

"Jung-Yun. He has dishonored everyone with his actions. It shows the Courts I cannot control my own son, a mere Kinfolk."

"Stop calling him that, Taek," Yun's voice had taken on a warning tone, "He is blessed with being a healthy, happy young man, and worthy enough to carry the breeding of the Khan that your kind so desperately needs!"

"What the Khan need are more Khan!" Hyun-Taek yelled, "We need more warriors to fight for the Emerald Mother, not more uppity Kinfolk who think they're superior to the ones who are blessed! He is not superior, Yun, he was trained to be a leader, and all he did was let us down."

"How can you say that about your own son," Yun whispered, "You treat him like he's nothing."

There was a loud thump. Something hit the wall. I wasn't sure what it was, but I bristled anyway. My father had enough pride and brain to never lay a hand on my mother, but there was always a first time for everything. 

"There were the auspicious signs, the readings, the divining; all of those things were wrong. All I wanted was a son who could fight to save not only the Courts, but also more importantly, my dying race. All you birthed was a rebellious failure the Emerald Mother didn't even care to look twice at."

"So I, too, am nothing to you? Because I am only Kin?"

Women. They always had a phrase up their sleeve that could turn the tides of any conversation. Yun was pulling out all the stops. But what I thought would turn the conversation around had only kept it going downhill … at a much faster pace.

"Perhaps if you could have given me a Khan for a son, you would mean more to me."

A red haze clouded my vision. Never before had I heard such harsh words said to my mother. The door unlocked, but I hardly heard it. A figure entered, but I was so angry, I couldn't make out who it was. Through the haze and my tears, I finally made out the slight, willowy form of my mother. I could hardly bear to look at her. Her pain was my fault. I wasn't good enough for her. 

I looked away, but her long, delicate fingers touched my cheek, turning my head back towards her. Her face was streaked with tears. 

"I heard everything," I hissed. 

She nodded. 

"Why would I want to be a Khan anyway?" my voice was a angry growl, "Would I treat people the same way? Like dirt? He thinks he's so superior to everything!" I could hear myself growing angrier and angrier, "Why would I want to go out and revel in destruction? Why would I want to risk everything just to be seen better in the eyes of others? Why would I want a duty I could never escape?"

Yun dipped her head. "He is blind sometimes, so wrapped up in his duty and his pride that he doesn't understand that he needs us, not just more Khan. Without us, there would be no more Tiger-Shifters."

"Tiger-born Khan are dead to Korea anyway," I retorted bitterly.

"That fact merely fuels his fury, Jin. He is so desperate to save his own race that he neglects everything else around him except for his the Court and his Sentai. He is so proud, he believes he can save the race by himself."

I snorted. "Then he's a fool."

"Be still, Jin. He has the best intentions…"

"And you still defend him!" I threw up my hands in defeat. "What the hell was that out there, mother? He practically said, 'I don't love you' to…"

Her tiny hand came into contact with my cheek so quickly, I hardly noticed that she moved at all. My own mother had slapped me. The tears glistened in her eyes, full of pain and indignation. My cheek stung like a small fire. 

"How dare you speak to me in such a way, Jin," her voice wavered, but the anger was still there. I couldn't reply, even with an apology. My face burned with the sting of her slap and the fire of shame. All I could do was stare at some point on the floor over her shoulder. 

She turned and walked out of the room without another word. 


End file.
